


On Dating Your Therapist

by margarettt



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-06
Updated: 2012-03-05
Packaged: 2017-11-01 13:15:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margarettt/pseuds/margarettt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kyle agrees to council Stan through his troubles their senior year of high school, while Kyle deals with having a crush on his best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prelude - in which things get awkward.

**Author's Note:**

> Piece I've been working with on and off for over a year now.

**i**

"What did you think about the speaker?"

"I thought she was gay."

"You would say something like that, Cartman." Kyle Broflowski returned.

Stan Marsh, the inquirer, exhaled sharply. Having seen this for over eight years, he knew where this was going.

"What do you mean, Kyle?"

"That woman was just talking to us about our college options. It's supposed to help us. Someone trying to do something nice for you, someone trying to help you, is automatically gay to you."

Stan regretted asking, and turned his attention to his lunch.

"I bet you don't even know what you want to do when you graduate! You're just scared because you'll be graduating this year!"

"For your information, butt munch, I do know what I want to do!"

"What? Be a fat asshole and live with your mom forever?"

"And what, Kyle? I suppose you're gonna be a Jew lawyer like your daddy?"

"At least I have a dad!"

"Guys, seriously, shut the fuck up." Stan injected blandly.

Kyle paused to look at his best friend. His gaze was directed resolutely away from their lunch group and his food had hardly been touched. "Are you okay, dude?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Kyle figured he'd inquire deeper later. "Cartman, what do you want to do?"

"I'm going to school for journalism."

"Journalism?" Kyle was taken aback.

"Are you going to dig deep into controversial stories for the truth and be advocate for the underdog?" Kenny chimed in.

"Fuck no." Cartman laughed. "I'm going to print and tell people whatever the hell I want. I'll gain their trust and love slowly. And one day, I'll be Larry King or Katie Courick. People everywhere will wait for my option on things and believe me without a second thought. And before long… I'll be…"

"You're going into journalism to manipulate the media and gain control over the public?" Kyle asked.

"Of course, Kyle. It's why everyone goes into journalism." Cartman stated simply before finishing his milk.

"I'm going into the military." Kenny announced.

"You're going into the service, dude?" Stan asked. "Aren't you afraid of dying?"

"Not really." Kenny replied.

"Are you going to take over your father's business and be a Jew lawyer?" Cartman questioned Kyle.

"Actually, no. Ike can do that. I know what I want to do."

"What?" Stan asked.

"I want to be a psychiatrist."

"You what?" Cartman inquired. "You want to be a psychiatrist?"

"Yeah, I do. Why?"

"Should have figured you'd be a doctor, but a crazy doctor?"

"It's a growing business and I think I'd be good at it! You really could use therapist yourself fatass!"

"What the fuck do I need therapy for? There's nothing wrong with me!"

"You want to go into a career to control massive groups of people! You're a narcissist. You're controlling. You're manipulative. And you won't even admit it! Do you know why, Cartman? Because you lack a stable home environment. Your mother sleeps around and you don't have a paternal figure. You seek to control things and people to establish power that you yourself lack. You will continue like this through the rest of your life, never able to have a healthy relationship with another until you admit that you have a problem and seek help for it."

The group was silent for a moment.

"Uhm… Stan, what do you want to do?" Cartman resolutely asked.

"Goddamn it, you sick fat fuck!"

"I don't know." Stan admitted quietly.

"What do you mean?" Kenny questioned.

"I don't know what I want to do."

"Well, well, well," Cartman began. "Looks like the cock-jock Stan doesn't really have everything together."

"It's okay, Stan." Kyle offered. "A lot of people don't know what they want to do. I really only think I know because I've been around so many mentally ill people in my life."

"Yeah, okay." Stan stood up, shoved his hands in his pockets and left the cafeteria.

"Dude, what the hell?" Cartman started.

"Just drop it. He doesn't want to talk right now. Give him some space." Kyle immediately came to Stan's defense.

"Jesus, dude. Don't give yourself a stroke. I was just saying he didn't have to walk out like a little bitch."

The three continued lunch in relative silent until the bell rang and they headed to their last classes of the day.

* * *

While Kyle didn't get a chance to see Stan until school was over, but it was all he thought about through the remainder of the day. He contemplated how he'd talk to him, how he'd tiptoe around the subject for a while and try to get it off his mind before he'd comfort him. He'd tell him it really wasn't fair for him to expect to know what he wants to do with the rest of his life and when the time is right, he'll know exactly what he wants.

"Not staying after for football today?" Kyle asked as he approached Stan's car in the parking lot.

"No, I just feel like going home today."

"Mind if I come with you? We can play some video games or something?"

"I just wanna be alone."

"I know, and that's why I want to come over."

"Dude…" Stan started.

"I know you're upset about today and I… wanna hang out. You know, take your mind off it for a while. It's not really a big deal. You know, it's not uncommon…"

"Just don't talk about psychology, okay? Or how it's normal or whatever."

Kyle paused and resolutely looked at the ground before returning Stan's stare. "Okay, dude. I won't."

The ride home was short, but Stan kept quiet, leaving Kyle to stew in the awkward tension.

The first one to break the silence was Stan's mother when the two walked in the door. "How was your day, Sta- oh, Kyle!"

The redhead smiled. "Hello Mrs. Marsh."

"Will you be staying for dinner tonight?"

"Stan, is it cool if I stay?"

The inquired party had already shed his coat and was halfway up the stairs. "Sure."

"If you and your husband would have me, I'd be glad to."

"You know we'd love to Kyle." She waited for Stan's bedroom door to shut before asking, "Did Stan have a bad day?"

"Sort of, but that's why I came over."

"You're such a good friend to him, Kyle."

He smiled and went upstairs. Cautiously, he knocked.

"Dude, why the hell did you knock?" Stan asked as he flopped on his bed.

"I just didn't want to intrude. You stormed off."

"I wanted to be alone."

"I know." Kyle sighed and sat at the foot of Stan's bed to look back at him.

"Then why'd you insist on coming with me?" His response was venom.

"Because I care about you, goddamn it!"

Stan averted his gaze but for the few moments when they were quiet, Kyle kept his eyes consistently on the raven haired teen.

"Why did you want to be alone tonight?" Kyle asked.

"I thought you weren't going to do this psychiatrist shit?"

"I'm not! I'm just fucking curious."

"I wanted to try to figure out what the hell I want to do with my life!"

"Because you can do that in a night!"

"Well, at least I could start!"

"I can help you, dumbass."

"What if I don't want your help?"

Kyle dug his nails into the palm of his hand. "Then, I guess I'll just go." He stood and headed for the door resolutely.

"Wait, dude." Stan followed him. "At least, let me drive you."

"No, I'm fine." And with that, Kyle slammed the door to the Marsh house and began to walk the three blocks to his house.

"Is Kyle not staying for dinner?" Stan's mother asked from the kitchen.

"Not tonight."

* * *

As soon as Kyle's palms started to bleed, he slowed his pace. He realized that this could be seen as ridiculous to most people, but… goddamn it. He and Stan had been friends for… since… since he could fuckin' remember. Stan should know that he was sensitive by now.

No, he wasn't sensitive. Fuck that. He wasn't sensitive. Stan was important to him, and he should know that. He should know that Stan was  _more_  than just important to him. I mean, it's obvious. Who the hell else would he do that for? Kyle just wouldn't go home with some other kid who was having a bad day unless he  _really freaking_  cared about him. Not when he had homework to do, video games to play, chores to do, or fuck!

Stan should know he's the most important person to him his this goddamn world.

"Motherfucker," Kyle cursed as he walked into his house.

* * *

"Stan, how was your day?" His mother asked as he sat down to dinner. With Shelly at college, and his grandfather having past, it was just the three of them. The house never felt lonely until the burden of dinner conversation fell onto him. His life just really wasn't that goddamn interesting.

"Okay."

"Anything happen?"

"No," He said, hoping she wouldn't question anymore when he had a mouthful of meatloaf.

"Why did Kyle leave?"

"Dunno." Stan swallowed. "His mom called and needed something."

"Oh, that's too bad. I like having Kyle over. He's always been so polite."

"Yeah, I like Kyle too. He's a good friend to you, Stan." Randy commented between spoonfuls of mashed potatoes.

"Yeah, well, he'll be here again soon." Stan mused.

"I hope so! We were going to have breakfast for dinner, but when I saw him, I made something kosher."

Stan began idly stabbing his meatloaf. He knew Kyle was just trying to help, but he just wanted to be alone to figure this out. Kyle already knew what he wanted to do, and he probably had for a while. Cartman too. And Kenny, fuck, wasn't his father in the army or something?

"Delicious potatoes, Sharon." Randy said as he had another helping.

How the hell was he supposed to know what he wanted to do? I mean, he wasn't especially  _good_  at anything. He played football and soccer, and he was decent at that but not star quality or anything close. And since he was in sports, he had to keep his grades up. While that was a pain, it wasn't really challenging either. Math was the worst, so he didn't take anything past algebra II. History was second because it was mostly memorization, which was a pain in the ass. English wasn't hard, but it wasn't enjoyable either- I mean, who the hell likes diagraming sentences? Science came easy to him - his father's geology background didn't hurt - but he certainly didn't  _like_  it.

"I added some garlic." Sharon beamed.

A lot of people go into business management. The idea of wearing a suit everyday had a certain allure of professionalism to it, but mostly due to the fact that these ideas involved him driving a beamer and owning a yacht. Who was he kidding? What kind of business would he have? Fuck that. Too much tedious work. Images of Japanese business men offing themselves briefly filled his mind, before he decided to forget that idea completely.

"Very nice!" His father complimented. "Someone's been watching the food network!"

Shelly was going to be a teacher. That seemed promising. The west was in need of teachers. Stan would only be able to deal with older kids. So, a high school teacher. He could teach science. That would make his dad proud. And he wouldn't have to learn more. But… oh, fuck that sounds so gay. He'd never what to be a teacher. Who the hell would want to deal with kids like him everyday?

"Well, I have to have something to do during the day!" His mother laughed.

"Haha," Randy chuckled. "Well, Stan, you don't seem to agree with us. You've hardly even touched your dinner."

"Yeah. I know."

"What happened today, Stan?"

He took a deep breath. "We just had an assembly on what to look into when we look at colleges, and stuff and everyone knows what they want to be, and I just… don't."

"Oh, honey! That's not true!" Sharon comforted. "I'm sure plenty of kids at your school don't know what they want to do."

"No, Kenny, and Cartman, and Kyle even know what they want to do."

"Oh, what does Kyle want to do?" His mother asked.

"He wants to be a psychiatrist."

"Oh, wow!" Sharon exclaimed.

"I can see him doing that." Randy commented. "He'd be a really good therapist."

"I know Stan sure goes to him with his problems!" His mother smiled.

"Jesus! Do you guys want me to  _marry_  Kyle?" Stan stood and screamed.

Both his parents stared at him for a moment, as Stan tried to calm his heart rate.

"Not really." Randy returned.

"I'm going upstairs." Stan pushed in his chair and stated.

"You should probably apologize to Kyle too." His mother added as he left the kitchen.

"Goddamn it, mom." He snorted under his breath.

* * *

Kyle got out of the shower and sighed. Usually, a shower would energize him, which is why he normally showered in the mornings. But tonight, it just gave him more time to think about Stan and now, all he wanted to do was go to sleep.

He made a big deal of out something that's  _normal_  for guys. Guys don't have feelings. And when they do, they want to ignore them. Not fucking talk about them! That's what fags did!

Stan wasn't a fag.

And Kyle… fuck.

The shrill tone of his phone's ring cut off his thoughts.

"Hi mom." He answered.

"Kyle, bubbi, are you home?"

"Yeah, where are you?"

"I had to take Ike to Jew Scouts because your father was at the office late with some clients."

"Oh, okay then."

"Have you eaten dinner? There's leftover soup in the fridge."

"No, not yet."

"Oh, why not? It's almost seven! Aren't you hungry?"

"Not really. I don't feel well, ma."

"Oh my, what's wrong, dear?"

"It's just - hold on, I'm getting another call."

It was Stan.

"You can just go then, sweetie. I love you! I'll see you tonight."

"Love you too mom." Kyle quickly switched over and then attempted to hide that he wasn't thinking about the party calling him all night. "Hey."

"Hey dude. How are you?" Stan asked softly.

"I'm okay. How are you?"

"I want to apologize for today. I was just… pissed off."

"I know, dude. I shouldn't have been so pushy if you didn't want to talk."

"You were just trying to help though. My mom was even telling me tonight what a good friend you were and I realized how important you are to me."

"Aah-" Kyle was about to say something but he choked up. "Y-you're important to me too, Stan."

"And I wanted to say something else too."

"What?"

"Would you counsel me?"

"Ah-what?" Kyle stammered.

"I mean, this year's going to be rough. And I know you'd be good at it. You could get some practice and maybe I can learn something too."

Kyle exhaled. "I'd love to, dude."

Maybe they'd both learn something…


	2. in which help is offered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyle goes to someone who he'd never thought he'd ask for help.

**ii**

At 7:00 AM each school morning, Kyle would wait in his living room for Stan's text message saying, "here." Stan would then proceed to drive him to school and he would ride home with him, unless Stan had football practice.

Usually, they'd exchange pleasantries, listen to music, or not even say anything. Sometimes, Stan would have work to finish and let Kyle drive or vice versa. Sometimes, Stan would insist on quiet so Kyle could hear a song that he liked a lot. And sometimes, one of them would just be pissed and not want to talk about anything.

"You alright, dude?" Stan inquired. "You look tired."

"Yeah, I'm just tired."

Kyle hadn't slept the previous night. In the hours since he had hung up with Stan, he had decided several things.

He had decided that Stan was unquestionably the most important person to him in the world. He was his best friend, and he had always been there for him since he could remember. His parents were far often too consumed with their own lives, but Stan was always on his level. Stan never judged him for being Jewish, for being intelligent, for being a ginger, for being skinny, for being part Jersey, for being sensitive, for… fuck-anything.

Stan had always been cool. Stan was good at sports, maintained decent grades, and had grown into himself well. With football and soccer training, he was muscular but lean. Clean, well kept black hair stuck out from under the familiar blue and red beanie. His eyes were dark blue, and his bone structure showed softly though his clear, healthy skin. No denying it - Stan was handsome. Handsome, logical, understanding; his best friend, his brother, and the person closest to his heart.

So,  _loving_ Stan wasn't weird.

"You look like you have a fever too, dude." Stan added at a red light. He leaned over, brushed the red hair out of Kyle's face and placed the back of his palm to his forehead. "You don't feel too warm. You actually feel kinda clammy."

This, however,  _was_  weird.

"Maybe you should be a doctor, dude." He chuckled.

"Yeah, right dude." Stan shifted gears and mused.

So, after deciding that he  _loved_ Stan, and found Stan attractive, he also made the decision that he wasn't gay.

No. Not at all.

He just liked Stan. There was a difference.

He didn't like guys in general. He just liked Stan. And that… wasn't  _entirely_ too weird. Was it?

Yeah, it was definitely weird.

This wasn't normal.

But, he could understand why it happened. He and Stan were close, and he admired him. Wouldn't that admiration eventually turn into something more?

By the time, he got to this part in his thoughts, he'd stop. At this point, he was just grateful for football season.

* * *

During the school day, Kyle was fortunately able to concentrate on his work. He could completely immerse himself in A.P. calculus, A.P. biology, A.P. Government, and rest of his strenuous classes.

At lunch, he saw Stan, but didn't say much. He chose to venture to the other end of the lunch room to see Craig.

Craig Tucker was tall, reserved, and very, very intimidating. In addition to this, Craig was also gay. He had come out midway through last year, but because of him being so intimidating, no one said anything about it for fear of having the shit beat out of them. So, as Kyle approached arguably the toughest kid in his school, he was understandably nervous.

Before he could even greet him, Craig turned to him and asked, "What?"

"Aah-JESUS." Tweek exclaimed. "It was like you KNEW he was coming."

South Park High School found out Craig was gay when he was seen in the hallways with his arm around Tweek. They'd gotten close since Tweek had a breakdown in the middle of school freshman year, and so it wasn't really  _shocking_ when they became official. At first, everyone was interested, but now they were just a regular couple. Or as much of a regular couple as a schizophrenic coffee addict and a stoic, frightening chain smoker can be.

After being throughly taken about by the greeting, Kyle proceeded. "Hey, can I talk to you guys?"

"You have a fight with Mr. Abercrombie?" Craig mused.

"Excuse me?"

"Your boyfriend looks like one of those half naked guys on their bags."

"Stan's not - wait, how did you know?"

"I didn't." Craig said. "But it doesn't surprise me."

Kyle dropped his kosher lunch bag and stared at the pair, mouth agape, for around thirty seconds.

"Whoa Craig -" Tweek exclaimed with a jitter, spilling some of his coffee on the table. "You're good."

"I know." He returned, turning his attention to Kyle. "You can sit down, you know."

Kyle picked up his lunch, which he suddenly no longer wanted to eat, and sighed as he sat down.

"So, do you wanna know the ins and outs of being gay or what?" Craig said flatly.

"I'm not gay."

"Okay."

"But I like Stan."

"Cool."

"It's not cool, Craig."

"Okay."

They were dead silent for a minute, the three pairs of eyes switching back and forth between glaring at each other.

"What did you want?" Craig asked.

"I- I don't really know."

"Okay."

"Earlier, when you mentioned Stan…"

"Yeah."

"How did you… know?"

Craig inhaled deeply, stretching his arms out over his head. "Well, it's kinda obvious."

"It is?" Kyle screamed.

"JESUS." Tweek injected.

"Calm down, Tweek." Craig quietly stated. "Don't fucking freak, Kyle. You'll upset him."

The redhead sighed. "Is it  _that_  obvious?"

"If you're looking for it."

In addition to being tall, reserved, intimidating, and gay, Craig was also vague; poetic, in a really douchey way.

"Why were you looking for it in Stan?"

"I don't like your boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend."

"Okay."

"Were you looking for it in me?"

"No. I don't like red hair."

"Do you like anything?"

"I like Tweek."

Kyle sighed, and realized that this was a horrible idea.

"So, you're gay now?" Craig mused.

"I'm not gay. I just like Stan." Was Kyle's resolute response.

"Which makes you gay."

Kyle decided to change the subject on that note. "Tweek, you seem calm."

It was true. While Tweek was still jittery and paranoid, his ticks had calmed; he had taken to twiddling his thumbs over his coffee thermos, instead of hiding behind it, or twirling his disheveled blonde hair instead of pulling it out.

"What?" Tweek jumped, but not quite like he would have at this time last year.

"You look a lot calmer."

"Yeah- Cr-craig helps me with that a lot."

"Well, I'm glad. You look much better than usual."

"Thanks."

"What's that supposed to mean, Broflowski?"

"Jesus Craig-" Tweek grabbed his boyfriend's arm.

"Oh, forgot. He only likes jocks."

"I don't like jocks."

"You like one jock."

Kyle was through with this. He could get the same treatment from Cartman. "Well, it was  _nice_  talking to you." He said as he got up.

"You going to the game, tonight?" Craig asked, not even turning around to look at Kyle.

"Yeah." Their conversation took place between their backs.

"Meet me in the parking lot after school?"

"Why?"

"Just meet me. You know what car I drive right?"

"Why?" Kyle turned around to face him.

"I'll see you after school, Kyle." Craig said with a wave, moving his arm around Tweek.

Kyle exhaled, and decided he would definitely not be seeing Craig after school.

"You hanging out with fags now?" Cartman was the first to greet him.

"Craig wanted to talk to me."

"About dicks?"

"No."

"Is Craig still mad at us about Peru?" Kenny asked.

"He didn't mention it."

"We all agreed Craig was a total dick about that. You shouldn't talk to a dick like that." Cartman reprimanded.

"He can talk to any dick he wants." Stan defended, and turned his attention to Kyle. "Do you have a ride home today, dude?"

The redhead refused to look at him directly. "Y-yeah, I'm going to the game with Craig."

"Good."

"You and Craig gonna start dating or what?" Cartman asked.

"He wanted to talk about psych stuff." Kyle lied. "He heard I was interested in it and he wanted to know if I knew anything about Tweek."

"Paging Doctor Jewfag, Doctor Jewfag to the cafeteria."

"Knock it off, Cartman. Do you still wanna come over tonight, after the game, you know?"

When dark blue eyes met green ones, Kyle choked on his own breath. "Yeah, dude, I'd love to."

* * *

As Kyle begrudgingly approached Craig's blue cavalier, he bit the corner of his mouth and thought about how he would approach this. Surely, Craig had liked Tweek before they dated. Or vice versa. Probably vice versa. And they had to deal with that somehow. This whole blushing and stumbling over words was getting a little ridiculous. He was acting like a fucking girl… around his best friend.

"Nice to see you, Kyle." Craig smiled like a cat.

"Hi-hi Kyle." Tweek greeted.

Kyle's greeting was a nod.

"Don't be so pissy." Craig returned opening his front door. "Get in. "

Craig pulled his seat forward to make room for Kyle to enter. The backseat of Craig's car wasn't as dirty was he thought it would be. It was littered with a few empty coffee cups, soda cans and cigarette packs, but there was still room for him to sit.

As Craig started the car, Beethoven's Ave Maria started playing.

"Do you like  _classical_  music, Craig?"

"Sorta. It helps Tweek though."

"Yeah, calms me down." Tweek jittered slightly, but calmed down when Craig put his hand on this thigh.

"Oh, before we go," Kyle started.

Craig didn't say anything but turned his attention to the redhead int he backseat.

"I'm sorry about Peru."

"Please don't ever mention that again."

"What happened in Peru?" Tweek asked.

"Horrible things." Craig said as he backed the car up.

"He actually saved the world, Tweek." Kyle exclaimed. "He's like a Peruvian prophet!"

Tweek's brief moment of excitement was quickly dampened when he saw Craig's unenthused face. "I didn't know you were Peruvian…"

"Neither did I." Craig returned in a voice even more monotone than usual.

The rest of the ride was silent with the exception of the array of arias and symphonies until they arrived at Harbucks.

"Doesn't look too busy." Craig commented, turning his attention to Tweek.

"Yeah, I get off at seven."

Craig quickly closed the distance between the two of them by placing a hand on his cheek. "Game's at six thirty. We'll get there before half time."

"Not in front of Kyle." Tweek squeaked out.

Craig's black eyes stared darkly at their backseat company. "Kyle, would you mind closing your eyes?"

Kyle raised an eyebrow but complied, shifting to face the window.

"Good enough for you?"

"Crai-gg, my parents might-"

"Shut up bitch." Craig's voice sounded much deeper than usual as he unbuckled his seatbelt and - judging by the sounds Kyle heard - crawling over to Tweek's seat. There were sounds of clothes rustling, gasps on the part of Tweek, and the occasional low chuckle from Craig between what Kyle assumed were kisses.

After about ninety seconds of this, Kyle turned to face the two as he cleared his throat. However, upon seeing Craig's mouth engulfing Tweek's, as the blonde's hands moved up to remove the signature blue chullo, he realized they were a little too caught up in each other to pick up on Kyle's subtle hints. Fortunately as Craig bit down hard at the skin of Tweek's neck, he let out a yelp, turned his head and met gazes with Kyle.

"Ah! Jesus! Craig!" Tweek cried as he pushed his boyfriend off him.

"I guess Kyle's ready to go." Craig mused as he drug his hand up from between Tweek's legs.

"Really dude?" Kyle exclaimed.

"I kindly asked you to look away."

"And what? Am I supposed to just sit here while you guys make out for twenty minutes?"

"I'd like it." Craig smiled, biting his bottom lip out of the side of his mouth as he climbed over to the drivers seat.

"Craig-"

"He was probably turned on by all those sounds you were making."

"Was not."

"Better not have been." Craig mumbled before chuckling quietly as he watched Tweek struggle to readjust himself in his corduroy pants.

"Don't laugh, Craig!"

"I'm not laughing. I'm admiring."

"Nngh.."

Craig smiled out of the corner of his mouth and opened the door. "Do you like coffee, Kyle?" He asked, folding the chair over to let his guest out.

"Uh, sure."

"Good, get me a large cup of Peruvian black, and whatever the hell you want."

"Hey-"

"That's about ninety-eight dollars that you and your boyfriend still owe me."

Kyle shoved his hands resolutely into his pockets as the three entered Harbucks.

"Hi Tweek," His mom greeted from behind the counter. "Oh, hello Craig!"

"Hello Mrs. Tweak!" Craig greeted with the same mouth he had just violated her son with. "How's business?"

"Oh, busy mornings, slow afternoons. The usual." She returned, handing Tweek his apron.

"Who's your friend?"

"You remember Kyle, mom." Tweek introduced, putting on his apron.

"Oh, the Broflowski boy! I haven't heard you talk about him for a while! You and Tweek used to be friends in elementary school."

"Yeah, we did." Kyle had almost forgotten.

"Nowadays, he spends all his time with Craig."

"Aw, what's wrong with that?" Craig asked, his voice monotone but sweet.

"Nothing! You know we love you, Craig. You've been such a good friend to Tweek."

"Good, because I love you too." Craig returned, hugging his boyfriend's mom.

And as the awkward moment in which Kyle could do nothing but watch passed, the mother in question turned her attention to him. "Kyle, how are you?"

"I'm good. Can I order something though?"

"Oh, certainly!" She headed back behind the counter. "What'll it be?"

"An iced cappuccino, and a large Peruvian black coffee."

"Sure thing. I'll be right back with those."

And as Mrs. Tweak disappeared behind the doors to the kitchen, Craig approached her son once more.

"Have a good day at work, Tweekheart." Said the noirette as he placed a hand on the wall behind his boyfriend.

"Thanks, I'll see you at seven."

"Until then." Craig whispered, grabbing Tweek by the chin and pulling him into a kiss that was so soft, it shocked Kyle.

And just as Craig backed away from the kiss, Mrs. Tweak returned with their orders. "Here you go, boys!"

"Thanks Mrs. Tweak." Craig smiled as he headed for the door while she and Kyle exchanged money. "We'll be back for him at seven."

"Where will you boys being going after work?"

"Football game." Kyle said with a sip of his cappuccino.

"Alright, I'll see you boys then."

"See ya!" Craig waved as he headed out the door.

"Thank you." Kyle waved shyly.

"An iced cappuccino? How terribly metro, Kyle."

"Says you. When did you become such a suckup?"

"When I met Tweek's parents." Craig returned, unlocking his door.

As Kyle entered the car, Craig swiftly changed CDs and lit a cigarette.

"No more Beethoven."

"Dimmu Borgir."

"Quite the switch."

"Tweek isn't a fan of heavy stuff."

Kyle sipped his iced coffee and took note of Craig. He was tall, like Stan, and skinny, like Kyle. His eyes were almost black, in contrast to his pale skin. When they were younger, he sort of looked like Stan, but since then, his face had grown longer and his bones stuck out sharply.

"You checking me out, Broflowski?"

"You wish."

"You can tell yourself that."

They were silent for a few moments as they drove.

"Have you ever dated someone, Kyle?" Craig questioned. "I never kept up with rumors or anything so I don't know much about you."

"Not since I dated Bebe in sixth grade."

"Do you want to date Stan?"

Kyle looked at his coffee. "I'm not sure."

"Dating is a big thing… You have to give up a lot. And put up with a lot of assholes."

"I figured."

"From people you don't even know. From people you thought you could trust."

"You make this sound like a movie premier."

"It's a big thing, Kyle. And to… come to someone like me for advice, I think you're pretty goddamn serious."

"I am, Craig. I don't… know what's going on. It's like… it's everything I felt for him before, just times like ten thousand."

Craig laughed, and finished his coffee, throwing it in the backseat with the rest of its kind.

"How did you and Tweek start dating?" Kyle asked.

"Does it matter?"

"Not really, but I'm curious."

Craig sighed, reaching into his pocket and lit another cigarette. "That mental breakdown Tweek had freshman year?"

"Yeah."

"I watched it happen."

"What do you mean?"

"Some older kids beat him up and I watched. I did nothing to stop it. When they had scattered, I was still there. His lip and nose were bleeding, his face was smeared with dirt and blood, his shirt was all torn, and he could hardly talk. He came over to me and started bawling and screaming. He told me there were monsters inside him, and that they'd been there for years. He told me about how they'd come out from inside his closet at night, cut his stomach open and go in through there. He told me how they ran rampant in his mind. He told me how he wouldn't eat for days to try to starve them but they'd come back. He'd show me the cuts on his arms where he'd try to let them out, but more would come in. He said the older kids had sent them to torment him when he wasn't at school. He screamed and asked me why they were targeting him. I stayed with him there for hours until the nurse came out for him."

"It fucking changed me. I had just gone out to smoke and didn't even know those kids. But that month when he was in that hospital, I found all those guys. One of them is still missing a tooth because of me. And when he finally came back, still strung out on those pills that made him a zombie, I told him no one would fuck with him anymore. I made sure he was safe. I started hanging out with him outside of school. Eventually, he stopped taking that medicine. He picked up my smoking habit, but we also started meditating, so he's been able to be cool in school. And somewhere, in there, I fell in love with him. I didn't confess in a loving way. I just lit his cigarette one day and said, "I love you." Just like that. And then he smiled at me. He said, "I love you too." And when I saw him happy like that… I want to make him happy forever. And so that's what I've been doing."

Kyle was speechless. The stoic Craig he had known his entire life had been obliterated and rebuilt again in the same form.

"Happy?"

Kyle visibly drew back. "Yeah, I guess."

They were silent as Craig approached a red light, the only sound coming from the soft clicking of the turn signal.

"You changed a lot since elementary school."

"You too, Broflowski." Craig smiled out of the side of his mouth and put out his cigarette before he pulled into his driveway. Kyle had been here before, at some various point in his youth, but it was awkward to be there again.

Craig's room was plain, and messy. He had a TV with an XBox, a dresser and a mirror, but with a pile of books, DVDs, and games hiding the reflection. Beside his bed, there was a nightstand with a cage for his guinea pig.

"You still have a guinea pig?"

"Yeah, my aunt gives me them." He explained, taking the slender creature into his hands. "And I like them."

"It's cute. Can I pet him?"

"It's a girl. And sure." He said, setting his pet on the bed. Kyle sat down and the creature came to him eagerly.

"She's friendly. What's her name?"

"Rayas."

"Rayas?"

"Spanish. For stripes."

"Do you know Spanish?"

"A little."

Kyle exhaled dramatically and laid himself on Craig's bed.

"Make yourself comfortable, why don't you, Broflowski?" Craig mused, headed for his closet.

Kyle did as he was sarcastically told, rolling over to examine the remainder of Craig's nightstand. He saw Rayas's cage, a lamp, a pack of cigarettes, and two framed photos. One was of Craig and Tweek; it had been taken at Token's Christmas party last year (Kyle had been invited but forced to leave early for Hanukkah.) Tweek's smile in the picture was awkward, but ever so endearing, and as usual, Craig was smirking out of the side of his mouth. The other was a picture of one of the Mayan pyramids. It had been ripped unevenly from a magazine with a note reading, "we'll go here together" in a messy series of scratches that had to be Tweek's.

"Do you and Tweek wanna go to Mexico?"

"Yeah."

Kyle scanned the room quickly, but still with enough attention to notice Craig's books bore titles like, "Ancient Mexico," "Mysteries of the Mayans," and "Aztec Architecture."

"Craig," Kyle began. "Do you like-"

"Did you come here to find out my dirty secrets or to talk about your goddamn crush?" Craig cut him off, scooping Rayas off Kyle's stomach and into his hands.

"You loved Peru."

"Fuck you, Broflowski."

Kyle exhaled, briefly, but ever so immensely, satisfied before he remember why he had even gone to see Craig in the first place.

"I like Stan."

"I know."

" _How_ did you know?" Kyle asked, dramatically leaning against Craig's headboard.

"You told me."

"Before that. In the cafeteria, you said something about him being my boyfriend."

"Well, you guys are kind of always together. It would only be natural."

"Really?"

"I wouldn't be surprised. I figured you guys had liked each other for years."

"Really?"

"Well, have you?"

Kyle's mouth twitched uncomfortably. "I-I don't know. I've always  _admired_  him. But… it wasn't." Kyle paused, and looked at Craig, who merely looked blankly at him3, before continuing. "It wasn't like this."

"Hmm," Craig mused. "Do you think Stan likes you?"

Kyle answered quickly, as to prevent thinking about the question any longer. "I don't know."

"Well, do you think he hates you?"

"No…"

"Then, do you think he  _cares_ about you?"

"Yes. I know he does."

"That's important. Guys don't really care about people often."

Kyle narrowed his eyes. "I know."

"Do you think Stan could find you attractive?"

Kyle shifted uncomfortably.

Craig smiled out of one side of his mouth. "Do you?"

"I don't know?"

"Oh, so there's no sexual tension yet?"

"No!"

"Oh, well, just wait. That's fun."

"Urggg." Kyle screamed from inside his throat.

"You're such a girl."

"Fuck you, Craig."

"So, are you gonna tell him?"

"Gyah!" Kyle cried out again in frustration.

"Jesus, stop that. You sound like Tweek."

"I'm not gonna tell him."

"Oh. Then, why the fuck are you here?"

"To try to see what's wrong with me?"

"Don't start that bullshit. There's nothing fucking wrong with you. You just have a crush on a dude."

"Not  _just_ a dude! Stan's my best friend!"

"Yeah, and?"

"If I tell him, that'll make things really awkward."

"Yeah, probably." Craig shrugged.

"So, I can't tell him."

"So, are you planning on sitting in my room for the rest of your life and telling me about how you pine away for him?"

"Not the  _rest_  of my life."

"No, fuck that dude. That's pathetic and I have better things to do."

"Like what? Make out with Tweek in front of people and watch Red Racer?"

"They're both infinitely better than this bullshit."

"Fuck you! Weren't you the one who wanted me to come here in the first place?"

"Yeah. But I didn't think you'd be such a fucking pussy about it!"

"This is my first time dealing with this kind of stuff. Have some sympathy!"

"When it was my first time, no one was there to fucking hold my hand and tell me all that, 'oh, you're perfect together' bullshit. I'm not going to treat you like a fucking girl."

"I don't want you to treat me like a girl!"

"Then stop fucking acting like one!"

"Fuck you, Craig." Kyle said resolutely as he stood up.

"Where you going?"

"I'm going to the game."

"How?"

"I'll call Kenny."

"And you expect Kenny to get his dick out of whatever it's in at the moment, and come save you from the big mean Craig monster?"

"Yes."

"Jesus, you're such a pussy." Craig stated, throwing something plastic at him.

"Fuckin' what?" Kyle returned, turning around to see that it was an XBox controller thrown at him.

"Blow off your steam like a normal boy. Kill me a few times in CoD. Don't go all off in a tizzy." Craig rambled as he started up the game.

Kyle stared at the controller, and sighed. "Fine." He mumbled, sitting cross legged on the floor in front of Craig's TV.

Within ten seconds, Kyle's half of the screen was stained with blood spatters.

"If I kill you more than ten times, you have to tell Stan." Craig stated.

"What?" Kyle spat.

"Did I stutter?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Make the game more interesting."

"I'm not doing that!"

"Whatever, but I just killed you again." Craig said flatly.


	3. in which losses are counted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And they finally get to the goddamn football game.

**iii**

By the time Kyle was in Craig's car for the third time that day, he had played three rounds of Call of Duty. He had managed to kill Craig a total of twelve times, and effectively blown off his proverbial steam.

However, over the course of those three rounds, Craig had killed him twenty-eight times, almost triple the requirement for confessing to Stan.

"I'm not going to do it." Kyle said flatly over the sound of Dimmu Borgir.

"Alright." Craig returned, more flatly, before adding, "pussy."

"Just because I lost some stupid goddamn game doesn't mean I have to confess to him! I never said I would!"

"You still played. I took that as you accepting my challenge."

"I'm not gonna tell him."

"Okay, but you're never coming over and playing CoD with me again."

"I don't  _want_ to play CoD with you ever again!" Kyle exclaimed as they parked in front of Harbucks.

"You gonna come with me?" Craig asked putting his car in park.

"No."

Craig rolled his eyes and Kyle stewed in his awkward rage as he fetched Tweek.

Kyle weighed his options. A heavy conscious which he'd carried all of twenty-four-hours against the inevitable awkwardness, torment from Cartman, jokes from Kenny, and possibly - probably - the loss of Stan's friendship.

Telling him was out of the question.

People carried these things for years. Certainly, he could carry it with him until he grew so tired of it that it wouldn't be love anymore. It would just be a pain, like religion or like school work.

Wait - he couldn't put Stan in that category. Stan was… the most important thing to him. He couldn't just make him into a nuisance. That would be… like betraying him. Betraying all their years of friendship, and hardships, and memories.

Craig scowled as he returned to his car. "Guess you'll be sitting in back, Tweek. Someone's still sulking."

Tweek didn't argue with the new seating arrangement. "What'd you do to him?"

"He lost a CoD bet." Craig replied, pulling his seat back up.

"Craig's really good at Call of Duty." Tweek stated. "What'd you bet?"

"He has to tell Stan."

"Oh."

"I'm not going to." Kyle announced. "Can we not talk about this?"

"Sure, how was work, Tweek?" Craig said as blandly as ever as he put in a different CD, another opera.

"Slow. I just sat in the back, swept and drank coffee."

"No pressure?"

"No."

"Awesome. When do you work next?"

"Monday."

"Good. Text your mom and tell her you're staying with me tonight."

"What?"

"Okay, I'll text her then."

"No! Not while you're driving!"

Kyle tried to drown out their idle chatter with what he thought was the overture to Carmen, but ended up wadding through muddled sounds of sopranos, Craig's occasional chuckle, Tweek's occasional scream, and ways to  _not_ tell Stan.

When Craig parked outside the football field, Kyle thanked him for the ride.

"No problem, Ginger. I hope it works out for you and your beloved running back." Craig returned, his words coming out in white puffs.

Kyle slung his messenger bag over one shoulder, and headed towards the stands, before turning around. "Aren't you guys coming?"

"Nope." Craig smiled out of the side of his mouth and getting in the back of the car.

"What? Jesus, Craig! Not here-" A few more sounds escaped from Craig's car before Kyle decided he had quite enough of the both of them for the day.

In South Park, football games were a big thing. Elementary school football games were a big thing, so high school football was most of the town's pride. The stands were overflowing with proud parents, students looking for something to do on a Friday night, and various locals reliving their glory days.

As Kyle entered the stands, he greeted some kids he knew casually at school, as well as a few familiar adults before spotting a familiar, large figure in the midst of the stands.

"Where've you been, fag bag?" Was Cartman's greeting.

Kyle was silent and simply helped himself to a handful of whatever chips Cartman was stuffing his face with.

"Way to help yourself, greedy little son of a bitch."

"Where's Kenny?" Kyle asked.

"I don't know. He met with some girl from Park County like fifteen minutes ago."

Kyle briefly pondered how Kenny met these multitudes of girls.

"How was it?" Cartman questioned, before grabbing another fistful of chips.

"How was what?"

"Gettin' plowed by Craig?"

Kyle rolled his eyes. "We didn't."

"Oh, then what did you guys do for  _three_  hours?"

"Same thing we did at lunch."

"So, what, you psychoanalyzed his dick with your mouth?"

The very sound of that made Kyle sick. His mouth twisted as he thought about the onslaught of crude dick jokes Cartman - who, for a "straight" guy seemed to talk about dicks  _a lot -_ would be able to make if Kyle were to confess. He chewed the inside of his cheek and inhaled through his nose.

As Kyle prepared to defend himself, Clyde Donovan approached him. "Yo, Kyle."

"Oh, hey Clyde."

"Stan's down there." He motioned to the bottom of the bleachers, where the fence separated them from the field. "Wants to talk to you."

Kyle could actually feel the blood rush to his face, which he could always explain as being due to the cold, but still. "Thanks dude." He began to the descend the bleachers, leaving Cartman alone with his dicks.

"No problem. By the way, have you seen Craig?"

He thought for a moment. "Uh, no."

Kyle neared the fence, and heard Stan calling his name from his left. Stan was in his football uniform, cheeks flushed, and dark eyes bright. "Dude, I didn't think you were coming."

Kyle's stomach flipped and he swallowed. "I wouldn't miss it."

"What took you?"

"Craig had to pick up Tweek from work."

"Are you still coming over after the game?"

"Yeah, absolutely." Kyle nodded happily.

"Great!" Stan beamed, and Kyle smiled, probably too enthusiastically for a platonic relationship. "But, dude, I've gotta get back to the team. Meet me by my car after the game?"

"Yeah, dude. I-I'll see you there." Kyle nodded, and headed back up to Cartman, his stomach slowly sinking down from his throat.

"Stan jealous of Craig or something?" Cartman questioned upon Kyle's return.

Fortunately, by this point, Kenny had returned from his trist with the girl from Park county, so Kyle was able to respond with only a "fuck you" and ignore Cartman for Kenny's commentary.

This chick, apparently, had really nice hair. "Kinda chubby, not that I mind. But man, she had gorgeous hair. Really long, really thick, really dark, really straight, really shiny."

"Jesus, Ken, did you just fuck her hair?" Cartman snorted.

While this was certainly not Kenny's first random hookup, nor would it be his last, he always remembered a special feature about each girl. Nice tits, big eyes, pretty hands, Kenny would pick out a certain part of them, highlight it in all his retellings, and remember her fondly by it. He never had anything bad to say about anyone he slept with, or in this case, a wham, a bam, and a thank you ma'am, and always talked about them so highly. In a way, it was kind of romantic.

"Are you gonna see her again?" Kyle asked.

"Probably not." Kenny shrugged, taking a sip of Cartman's drink.  _Sort of_  romantic.

"Ey! Get your nasty lips off my pepsi!" Cartman cried. "God only knows where they've been."

"If you wanna know," He began. "You can kinda see her across the field if you squint really hard. Look for the hair."

"I think I see her." Kyle said, squeezing his eyelids tightly. There were several girls with dark hair that was long, but Kyle didn't really notice one with exceptionally gorgeous hair.

"Does this Rapunzel bitch have a name?"

"Probably." Kenny laughed. "I just called her babe, and she seemed fine with it."

"Nice."

Kyle smiled, sighed, and half watched the rest of the game. Since his dreams of basketball were crushed shortly after fourth grade, Kyle had decided to focus on grades and let sports fall to the wayside. Really, the only thing that kept him interested was the running back.

He sighed, and thought back to Kenny's story. He  _couldn't_ be completely gay, right? I mean, he had listened to all of Kenny's escapades with interest. It wasn't like he was  _disgusted_  with girls. They seemed okay. They seemed better than okay. Honestly, Kenny talked about them like they were the best thing ever. He just really hadn't had a chance with one.

Yeah, that was probably it.

Maybe he just needed Kenny to hook him up with someone.

That was a great idea. Then he could get rid of this… weird feeling in his stomach? I mean, it probably wouldn't fix everything, but it'd certainly help some. Get his bearings and whatnot. If it felt good, and if he liked it, then he could give up with Stan. And this feeling would go away.

Even when saying it in his head, Kyle knew it was absolute bullshit. And if he hooked up with someone who Kenny had hooked up with… Oh god. Who knew what else had been inside them.

It wasn't that Kyle didn't want to have sex with girls. He didn't necessarily want to fuck guys either. Like, Craig. Craig had the sex appeal of an ice pick. Tweek? Tweek would probably shake and scream nonstop the whole time. And Craig was probably into that. Ew. And Cartman? Did Cartman turn  _anyone_  on?  _Anywhere_? You have to have some sort of horrible fetish to be into Cartman. And Kenny? I mean, I'm sure Kenny could charm anyone's proverbial pants off, but Kyle was smarter than that. And had a bit of a thing for being clean, so Kenny was definitely out of the question. Not even limited to them, but any guy. Clyde, Tokken, Butters, Brad Pitt, Taylor Lautner, Matthew McConaughey, shit, who else was attractive?  _What_ else was attractive?

No, Kyle didn't want to sleep with any of them. Or really with anyone. Except… he hadn't even thought about that with Stan. Just the thought made his clothes feel tight, and his face feel like it was on fire. Because, how… how would they? With girls, it was as simple as "a goes into slot b." And in men, there was no slot…

Oh.

Oh, that was how.

Oh, that would… that would have to hurt. Wouldn't it?

Kyle was sure as he began to put the pieces together in his head, he was making the most hideous and contorted faces, but honestly, this was just becoming too much for him.

Stan would have to…

Or he would have to…

And, Jesus Christ!

People got off on that?

People he  _knew_ got off on that!

_Craig and Tweek got off on that._

And it would hurt.

And it would be fucking miles away from sanitary!

"Oh god." Kyle almost whispered before putting his face into his mittened hands and trying has hard as humanly possible to not think about everything he had just spent what seemed like forever contemplating.

No.

No way.

Nope.

This would not work. With Stan, or with anyone.

Nope.

Kyle would just commit himself to a life of celibacy.

It wouldn't be  _that_ bad. He would never have to worry about unwanted children, or STDs, or all the drama and emotions that go along with fucking. Honestly, Stan didn't even  _know_  Kyle had feelings for him, and it was already causing something like a World War within him. Imagine if Stan's feelings, and their libidos and other hormones were thrown in there. That would be a mess.

A horrible, sweaty, smelly, sticky mess.

Nope. None of that for him.

Just studying psychology and the torah.

And it'd be fucking great.

"Dude, what the fuck is wrong with him?" Cartman asked, motioning to Kyle.

"Maybe he really thought we were going to win?" Kenny shrugged, nudging him.

Kyle jumped at the touch, shooting his two friends a mortified look with a short, but loud yelp.

"The fuck is wrong with you?" Cartman questioned.

"I, uh, just feel… kinda sick." Kyle swallowed. Yeah, sick was an accurate description.

Kenny frowned. "Wanna ride home? I've got a date later, but I can drop you off."

"No, I'm going with St- you have  _another_  date?"

Kenny smiled and shrugged. "That's one word for it."

"Whatever, I'm out, fags." Cartman said, dismissing them with a wave.

Holding out his hand, Kenny pulled Kyle up from the bleachers. "You're going home with Stan?"

"Yeah."

"And you'll be okay?"

Feeling all sorts of combinations of shame, disgust and butthurt, Kyle could only nod and say, "Yeah, I'll be fine."

* * *

"No, no dude." Kyle continued, through their laughter. "Even his  _guinea pig_ has a Spanish name."

"You've got to be kidding me." Stan was staring to wheeze at this point.

"No dude! Totally serious!"

"Oh God!"

The two had made it to Stan's house before ten. South Park had lost, just barely. Not that Stan was too upset. Competitively wasn't really Stan's thing. He just played because he liked the game. At this point, he was more interested in Craig Tucker's dirty, hispanic secrets.

"Dude, what's his name on Live?"

"I didn't see."

"Shit, it's probably like ProphetPapito or something."

That comment brought both of them to the edge of hysteria, Kyle throwing his head back against the wall, hitting with a light thud, and Stan doubling over, arms holding his stomach.

Once Stan had caught his breath, he sat at the edge of his bed that Kyle had already made himself comfortable on. "Motherfucker _loved_  Peru."

" _Loves_ Peru. Still fucking does." Kyle corrected.

"Still talks about it."

"Dreams about it."

"Wants to take Tweek there."

"Carry him up to the tops of the Machu Picchu."

"Ride with llamas through Buenos Ares."

"Alpacas." Kyle corrected again. "And Buenos Aires is in Argentina."

"Still hilarious, Papi."

"Don't call me dad,"

Stan looked at Kyle, then resolutely back to the darkness of his room. "Dude, Craig sucks."

"Nah, he's kinda cool." Kyle defended.

Stan looked back at him, his expression a mix of "excuse me?" and "guuurl you did nooot."

Kyle paused, mulled over the events of the afternoon and returned. "Nah, Craig does suck." He laughed.

"Craig is the Reya de Sucks."

"Reya means queen."

"Perfect!" Stan exclaimed, decided he'd had quite enough talk of Senor Tucker for the evening. "Wanna watch a movie?"

"Yeah, sure."

Stan realized it was him who had asked about Craig, and continued on the topic, but he was curious. Kyle was  _his_  best friend. Always was, always will be, and now here's Craig. The fuck is Craig doing here? Craig doesn't belong here. Now, Stan didn't see Craig as competition. No, fuck no. Craig was the ValuTime, underfed, less ambitious and more vulgar version of him. You probably couldn't take Craig to a retirement home. He'd end up offending everyone, giving kind, elderly women heart attacks, making Tweek cry for inadvertently killing his grandma with his foul mouth, and flipping off the entire nursing, cooking and janitorial staff. Stan could get a little rude with his language, and even lose his temper once or twice, but Christ, you could clean him up and take him out of his basement occasionally.

And he acts like he knows everything! Seriously! Had he even taken an algebra class yet? Where the fuck does he get off? He never even tries in any class, barely passes, and still acts like he could be a professor on the subject.

And his teeth! Ugh. Hideous shades of mismatched and uneven yellows, not aided by smoking for all those years.

No. Craig was, in no way, competition. Craig couldn't even come up to Stan's ankles, in spite of him looming a good three inches over him.

Nope.

Kyle had even said it himself: Craig sucked. Craig was the queen of suck. Craig was a Latino-phile with a shitty attitude and no real friends except people who pitied him. Like Kyle. Only pity. No feelings of friendship. No feelings of camaraderie. No feelings of liking. No positive feelings.

Nope. No competition on the Craig front. None. That's why Kyle was here. And distinctly not with Craig.

Craig had Tweek, and Stan had Kyle and all was as it should remain.

* * *

"Dude, Nic Cage sucks." Kyle commented as the credits began to roll.

"Yeah, I know but c'mon, that was a fun movie."

"I guess." Kyle sighed. He had managed to forget about the one-sided tension between the two of them, which was easy for the most part when they were just enjoying themselves. Laughing at the expense of Craig, watching shitty Disney movies with shitty actors, shamelessly jamming in the car to Ke$ha, all were enough to distract him from the warm feeling expanding in his chest as he watched Stan get up from the couch at the foot of his bed to take "Sorcerers' Apprentice" out of the DVD player.

Unfortunately, now Stan was standing up, and was at a distance to be ogled, shamelessly. He had taken a quick shower while Kyle made a frozen pizza, and he had returned dressed only in blue sweatpants that bore the South Park Cows name on the left leg. Originally, it had only earned a gulp from Kyle, but he quickly turned the lights off, and the movie on, so it wasn't distracting for long. However, now that his eyes had adjusted to the light, or lack of, Kyle was able to notice how well shaped his arms were. And how lean his stomach was, but rippled with muscles in all the right places.

Guys weren't supposed to be sexy. Like, really. With a girl, this would be acceptable. In fact, it was supposed to be natural with a girl. Guys were supposed to be the ones that are overpowered by their urges, taken over by the sheer beauty, and then fuck the shit out of whatever made them succumb to these primal urges that society had insisted they keep under such tight check.

But that wasn't the case here. It was  _far_ from the case. Guys weren't supposed to make their best friends look longingly at them from across a dark bedroom after a high school football game, and make those best friends want to share embarrassing and strange and messy feelings that he didn't even have words for with him. He wasn't supposed to make the air catch in his throat, and the blood rush to all his extremities, and the room suddenly get warmer.

Stan wasn't supposed to be sexy like that. In that unknowing, and completely natural way. He  _wasn't_ trying. Was he? Oh, god, was he?

Great, now he was sounding like Tweek.

Kyle sighed, and looked back at Stan, who was currently rifling through his DVD collection, unknowingly. He began to feel sick.

Physically fucking ill.

Because this was really nice what they had. Their friendship, it was really, really fucking nice. On several levels, it fit the qualifications for "perfect" for both of them. They knew each other secrets, weaknesses, tastes in food, favourite colours, guilty pleasure music, family history, reactions to over the counter medicine, and lists upon lists of other shit. No one knew Stan like Kyle, and vice versa. Kyle would defend Stan to the death, and vice versa yet again. What they had was special. What they had was envied. What they had was kind of fucking magical.

And here was Kyle, wanting to ruin it.

What the fuck was he thinking?

"Uh, dude, I'm actually kind of tired." He spoke up, but barely.

"What?" Stan turned around from his DVD collection.

"Yeah, I think I'm just gonna go to bed." Kyle said, hardly above a whisper, as he started to snuggle into the couch.

"Aren't you gonna get in the bed, dude?"

No, fuck no. They had shared each others beds before, but tonight that was out of the question. Not even within the same universe as the question.

"No, I, uh," Shit. What was a good reason for sleeping on an old couch that smelt of cheesy poofs and video game sweat? "I've been having back pain."

"Back pain?"

"Yeah, sleeping on a couch can help."

"It can?"

"Yeah." He rolled over, resolutely facing the cushions instead of Stan.

"Alright then. I'm gonna put in a game though. I'm not really tired."

"That's fine."

"Do you feel okay?" Stan asked.

Kyle exhaled deeply before saying, "Yeah."

"You sure?"

"Just tired."

Stan paused, and walked closer. Kyle refused to look at him, but felt him drape a blanket over his body.

"Good night, dude."

"Good night, Stan."

This was definitely not going to work out well.


	4. in which losses are counted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And they finally get to the goddamn football game.

**iii**

By the time Kyle was in Craig's car for the third time that day, he had played three rounds of Call of Duty. He had managed to kill Craig a total of twelve times, and effectively blown off his proverbial steam.

However, over the course of those three rounds, Craig had killed him twenty-eight times, almost triple the requirement for confessing to Stan.

"I'm not going to do it." Kyle said flatly over the sound of Dimmu Borgir.

"Alright." Craig returned, more flatly, before adding, "pussy."

"Just because I lost some stupid goddamn game doesn't mean I have to confess to him! I never said I would!"

"You still played. I took that as you accepting my challenge."

"I'm not gonna tell him."

"Okay, but you're never coming over and playing CoD with me again."

"I don't  _want_ to play CoD with you ever again!" Kyle exclaimed as they parked in front of Harbucks.

"You gonna come with me?" Craig asked putting his car in park.

"No."

Craig rolled his eyes and Kyle stewed in his awkward rage as he fetched Tweek.

Kyle weighed his options. A heavy conscious which he'd carried all of twenty-four-hours against the inevitable awkwardness, torment from Cartman, jokes from Kenny, and possibly - probably - the loss of Stan's friendship.

Telling him was out of the question.

People carried these things for years. Certainly, he could carry it with him until he grew so tired of it that it wouldn't be love anymore. It would just be a pain, like religion or like school work.

Wait - he couldn't put Stan in that category. Stan was… the most important thing to him. He couldn't just make him into a nuisance. That would be… like betraying him. Betraying all their years of friendship, and hardships, and memories.

Craig scowled as he returned to his car. "Guess you'll be sitting in back, Tweek. Someone's still sulking."

Tweek didn't argue with the new seating arrangement. "What'd you do to him?"

"He lost a CoD bet." Craig replied, pulling his seat back up.

"Craig's really good at Call of Duty." Tweek stated. "What'd you bet?"

"He has to tell Stan."

"Oh."

"I'm not going to." Kyle announced. "Can we not talk about this?"

"Sure, how was work, Tweek?" Craig said as blandly as ever as he put in a different CD, another opera.

"Slow. I just sat in the back, swept and drank coffee."

"No pressure?"

"No."

"Awesome. When do you work next?"

"Monday."

"Good. Text your mom and tell her you're staying with me tonight."

"What?"

"Okay, I'll text her then."

"No! Not while you're driving!"

Kyle tried to drown out their idle chatter with what he thought was the overture to Carmen, but ended up wadding through muddled sounds of sopranos, Craig's occasional chuckle, Tweek's occasional scream, and ways to  _not_ tell Stan.

When Craig parked outside the football field, Kyle thanked him for the ride.

"No problem, Ginger. I hope it works out for you and your beloved running back." Craig returned, his words coming out in white puffs.

Kyle slung his messenger bag over one shoulder, and headed towards the stands, before turning around. "Aren't you guys coming?"

"Nope." Craig smiled out of the side of his mouth and getting in the back of the car.

"What? Jesus, Craig! Not here-" A few more sounds escaped from Craig's car before Kyle decided he had quite enough of the both of them for the day.

In South Park, football games were a big thing. Elementary school football games were a big thing, so high school football was most of the town's pride. The stands were overflowing with proud parents, students looking for something to do on a Friday night, and various locals reliving their glory days.

As Kyle entered the stands, he greeted some kids he knew casually at school, as well as a few familiar adults before spotting a familiar, large figure in the midst of the stands.

"Where've you been, fag bag?" Was Cartman's greeting.

Kyle was silent and simply helped himself to a handful of whatever chips Cartman was stuffing his face with.

"Way to help yourself, greedy little son of a bitch."

"Where's Kenny?" Kyle asked.

"I don't know. He met with some girl from Park County like fifteen minutes ago."

Kyle briefly pondered how Kenny met these multitudes of girls.

"How was it?" Cartman questioned, before grabbing another fistful of chips.

"How was what?"

"Gettin' plowed by Craig?"

Kyle rolled his eyes. "We didn't."

"Oh, then what did you guys do for  _three_  hours?"

"Same thing we did at lunch."

"So, what, you psychoanalyzed his dick with your mouth?"

The very sound of that made Kyle sick. His mouth twisted as he thought about the onslaught of crude dick jokes Cartman - who, for a "straight" guy seemed to talk about dicks  _a lot -_ would be able to make if Kyle were to confess. He chewed the inside of his cheek and inhaled through his nose.

As Kyle prepared to defend himself, Clyde Donovan approached him. "Yo, Kyle."

"Oh, hey Clyde."

"Stan's down there." He motioned to the bottom of the bleachers, where the fence separated them from the field. "Wants to talk to you."

Kyle could actually feel the blood rush to his face, which he could always explain as being due to the cold, but still. "Thanks dude." He began to the descend the bleachers, leaving Cartman alone with his dicks.

"No problem. By the way, have you seen Craig?"

He thought for a moment. "Uh, no."

Kyle neared the fence, and heard Stan calling his name from his left. Stan was in his football uniform, cheeks flushed, and dark eyes bright. "Dude, I didn't think you were coming."

Kyle's stomach flipped and he swallowed. "I wouldn't miss it."

"What took you?"

"Craig had to pick up Tweek from work."

"Are you still coming over after the game?"

"Yeah, absolutely." Kyle nodded happily.

"Great!" Stan beamed, and Kyle smiled, probably too enthusiastically for a platonic relationship. "But, dude, I've gotta get back to the team. Meet me by my car after the game?"

"Yeah, dude. I-I'll see you there." Kyle nodded, and headed back up to Cartman, his stomach slowly sinking down from his throat.

"Stan jealous of Craig or something?" Cartman questioned upon Kyle's return.

Fortunately, by this point, Kenny had returned from his trist with the girl from Park county, so Kyle was able to respond with only a "fuck you" and ignore Cartman for Kenny's commentary.

This chick, apparently, had really nice hair. "Kinda chubby, not that I mind. But man, she had gorgeous hair. Really long, really thick, really dark, really straight, really shiny."

"Jesus, Ken, did you just fuck her hair?" Cartman snorted.

While this was certainly not Kenny's first random hookup, nor would it be his last, he always remembered a special feature about each girl. Nice tits, big eyes, pretty hands, Kenny would pick out a certain part of them, highlight it in all his retellings, and remember her fondly by it. He never had anything bad to say about anyone he slept with, or in this case, a wham, a bam, and a thank you ma'am, and always talked about them so highly. In a way, it was kind of romantic.

"Are you gonna see her again?" Kyle asked.

"Probably not." Kenny shrugged, taking a sip of Cartman's drink.  _Sort of_  romantic.

"Ey! Get your nasty lips off my pepsi!" Cartman cried. "God only knows where they've been."

"If you wanna know," He began. "You can kinda see her across the field if you squint really hard. Look for the hair."

"I think I see her." Kyle said, squeezing his eyelids tightly. There were several girls with dark hair that was long, but Kyle didn't really notice one with exceptionally gorgeous hair.

"Does this Rapunzel bitch have a name?"

"Probably." Kenny laughed. "I just called her babe, and she seemed fine with it."

"Nice."

Kyle smiled, sighed, and half watched the rest of the game. Since his dreams of basketball were crushed shortly after fourth grade, Kyle had decided to focus on grades and let sports fall to the wayside. Really, the only thing that kept him interested was the running back.

He sighed, and thought back to Kenny's story. He  _couldn't_ be completely gay, right? I mean, he had listened to all of Kenny's escapades with interest. It wasn't like he was  _disgusted_  with girls. They seemed okay. They seemed better than okay. Honestly, Kenny talked about them like they were the best thing ever. He just really hadn't had a chance with one.

Yeah, that was probably it.

Maybe he just needed Kenny to hook him up with someone.

That was a great idea. Then he could get rid of this… weird feeling in his stomach? I mean, it probably wouldn't fix everything, but it'd certainly help some. Get his bearings and whatnot. If it felt good, and if he liked it, then he could give up with Stan. And this feeling would go away.

Even when saying it in his head, Kyle knew it was absolute bullshit. And if he hooked up with someone who Kenny had hooked up with… Oh god. Who knew what else had been inside them.

It wasn't that Kyle didn't want to have sex with girls. He didn't necessarily want to fuck guys either. Like, Craig. Craig had the sex appeal of an ice pick. Tweek? Tweek would probably shake and scream nonstop the whole time. And Craig was probably into that. Ew. And Cartman? Did Cartman turn  _anyone_  on?  _Anywhere_? You have to have some sort of horrible fetish to be into Cartman. And Kenny? I mean, I'm sure Kenny could charm anyone's proverbial pants off, but Kyle was smarter than that. And had a bit of a thing for being clean, so Kenny was definitely out of the question. Not even limited to them, but any guy. Clyde, Tokken, Butters, Brad Pitt, Taylor Lautner, Matthew McConaughey, shit, who else was attractive?  _What_ else was attractive?

No, Kyle didn't want to sleep with any of them. Or really with anyone. Except… he hadn't even thought about that with Stan. Just the thought made his clothes feel tight, and his face feel like it was on fire. Because, how… how would they? With girls, it was as simple as "a goes into slot b." And in men, there was no slot…

Oh.

Oh, that was how.

Oh, that would… that would have to hurt. Wouldn't it?

Kyle was sure as he began to put the pieces together in his head, he was making the most hideous and contorted faces, but honestly, this was just becoming too much for him.

Stan would have to…

Or he would have to…

And, Jesus Christ!

People got off on that?

People he  _knew_ got off on that!

_Craig and Tweek got off on that._

And it would hurt.

And it would be fucking miles away from sanitary!

"Oh god." Kyle almost whispered before putting his face into his mittened hands and trying has hard as humanly possible to not think about everything he had just spent what seemed like forever contemplating.

No.

No way.

Nope.

This would not work. With Stan, or with anyone.

Nope.

Kyle would just commit himself to a life of celibacy.

It wouldn't be  _that_ bad. He would never have to worry about unwanted children, or STDs, or all the drama and emotions that go along with fucking. Honestly, Stan didn't even  _know_  Kyle had feelings for him, and it was already causing something like a World War within him. Imagine if Stan's feelings, and their libidos and other hormones were thrown in there. That would be a mess.

A horrible, sweaty, smelly, sticky mess.

Nope. None of that for him.

Just studying psychology and the torah.

And it'd be fucking great.

"Dude, what the fuck is wrong with him?" Cartman asked, motioning to Kyle.

"Maybe he really thought we were going to win?" Kenny shrugged, nudging him.

Kyle jumped at the touch, shooting his two friends a mortified look with a short, but loud yelp.

"The fuck is wrong with you?" Cartman questioned.

"I, uh, just feel… kinda sick." Kyle swallowed. Yeah, sick was an accurate description.

Kenny frowned. "Wanna ride home? I've got a date later, but I can drop you off."

"No, I'm going with St- you have  _another_  date?"

Kenny smiled and shrugged. "That's one word for it."

"Whatever, I'm out, fags." Cartman said, dismissing them with a wave.

Holding out his hand, Kenny pulled Kyle up from the bleachers. "You're going home with Stan?"

"Yeah."

"And you'll be okay?"

Feeling all sorts of combinations of shame, disgust and butthurt, Kyle could only nod and say, "Yeah, I'll be fine."

* * *

"No, no dude." Kyle continued, through their laughter. "Even his  _guinea pig_ has a Spanish name."

"You've got to be kidding me." Stan was staring to wheeze at this point.

"No dude! Totally serious!"

"Oh God!"

The two had made it to Stan's house before ten. South Park had lost, just barely. Not that Stan was too upset. Competitively wasn't really Stan's thing. He just played because he liked the game. At this point, he was more interested in Craig Tucker's dirty, hispanic secrets.

"Dude, what's his name on Live?"

"I didn't see."

"Shit, it's probably like ProphetPapito or something."

That comment brought both of them to the edge of hysteria, Kyle throwing his head back against the wall, hitting with a light thud, and Stan doubling over, arms holding his stomach.

Once Stan had caught his breath, he sat at the edge of his bed that Kyle had already made himself comfortable on. "Motherfucker _loved_  Peru."

" _Loves_ Peru. Still fucking does." Kyle corrected.

"Still talks about it."

"Dreams about it."

"Wants to take Tweek there."

"Carry him up to the tops of the Machu Picchu."

"Ride with llamas through Buenos Ares."

"Alpacas." Kyle corrected again. "And Buenos Aires is in Argentina."

"Still hilarious, Papi."

"Don't call me dad,"

Stan looked at Kyle, then resolutely back to the darkness of his room. "Dude, Craig sucks."

"Nah, he's kinda cool." Kyle defended.

Stan looked back at him, his expression a mix of "excuse me?" and "guuurl you did nooot."

Kyle paused, mulled over the events of the afternoon and returned. "Nah, Craig does suck." He laughed.

"Craig is the Reya de Sucks."

"Reya means queen."

"Perfect!" Stan exclaimed, decided he'd had quite enough talk of Senor Tucker for the evening. "Wanna watch a movie?"

"Yeah, sure."

Stan realized it was him who had asked about Craig, and continued on the topic, but he was curious. Kyle was  _his_  best friend. Always was, always will be, and now here's Craig. The fuck is Craig doing here? Craig doesn't belong here. Now, Stan didn't see Craig as competition. No, fuck no. Craig was the ValuTime, underfed, less ambitious and more vulgar version of him. You probably couldn't take Craig to a retirement home. He'd end up offending everyone, giving kind, elderly women heart attacks, making Tweek cry for inadvertently killing his grandma with his foul mouth, and flipping off the entire nursing, cooking and janitorial staff. Stan could get a little rude with his language, and even lose his temper once or twice, but Christ, you could clean him up and take him out of his basement occasionally.

And he acts like he knows everything! Seriously! Had he even taken an algebra class yet? Where the fuck does he get off? He never even tries in any class, barely passes, and still acts like he could be a professor on the subject.

And his teeth! Ugh. Hideous shades of mismatched and uneven yellows, not aided by smoking for all those years.

No. Craig was, in no way, competition. Craig couldn't even come up to Stan's ankles, in spite of him looming a good three inches over him.

Nope.

Kyle had even said it himself: Craig sucked. Craig was the queen of suck. Craig was a Latino-phile with a shitty attitude and no real friends except people who pitied him. Like Kyle. Only pity. No feelings of friendship. No feelings of camaraderie. No feelings of liking. No positive feelings.

Nope. No competition on the Craig front. None. That's why Kyle was here. And distinctly not with Craig.

Craig had Tweek, and Stan had Kyle and all was as it should remain.

* * *

"Dude, Nic Cage sucks." Kyle commented as the credits began to roll.

"Yeah, I know but c'mon, that was a fun movie."

"I guess." Kyle sighed. He had managed to forget about the one-sided tension between the two of them, which was easy for the most part when they were just enjoying themselves. Laughing at the expense of Craig, watching shitty Disney movies with shitty actors, shamelessly jamming in the car to Ke$ha, all were enough to distract him from the warm feeling expanding in his chest as he watched Stan get up from the couch at the foot of his bed to take "Sorcerers' Apprentice" out of the DVD player.

Unfortunately, now Stan was standing up, and was at a distance to be ogled, shamelessly. He had taken a quick shower while Kyle made a frozen pizza, and he had returned dressed only in blue sweatpants that bore the South Park Cows name on the left leg. Originally, it had only earned a gulp from Kyle, but he quickly turned the lights off, and the movie on, so it wasn't distracting for long. However, now that his eyes had adjusted to the light, or lack of, Kyle was able to notice how well shaped his arms were. And how lean his stomach was, but rippled with muscles in all the right places.

Guys weren't supposed to be sexy. Like, really. With a girl, this would be acceptable. In fact, it was supposed to be natural with a girl. Guys were supposed to be the ones that are overpowered by their urges, taken over by the sheer beauty, and then fuck the shit out of whatever made them succumb to these primal urges that society had insisted they keep under such tight check.

But that wasn't the case here. It was  _far_ from the case. Guys weren't supposed to make their best friends look longingly at them from across a dark bedroom after a high school football game, and make those best friends want to share embarrassing and strange and messy feelings that he didn't even have words for with him. He wasn't supposed to make the air catch in his throat, and the blood rush to all his extremities, and the room suddenly get warmer.

Stan wasn't supposed to be sexy like that. In that unknowing, and completely natural way. He  _wasn't_ trying. Was he? Oh, god, was he?

Great, now he was sounding like Tweek.

Kyle sighed, and looked back at Stan, who was currently rifling through his DVD collection, unknowingly. He began to feel sick.

Physically fucking ill.

Because this was really nice what they had. Their friendship, it was really, really fucking nice. On several levels, it fit the qualifications for "perfect" for both of them. They knew each other secrets, weaknesses, tastes in food, favourite colours, guilty pleasure music, family history, reactions to over the counter medicine, and lists upon lists of other shit. No one knew Stan like Kyle, and vice versa. Kyle would defend Stan to the death, and vice versa yet again. What they had was special. What they had was envied. What they had was kind of fucking magical.

And here was Kyle, wanting to ruin it.

What the fuck was he thinking?

"Uh, dude, I'm actually kind of tired." He spoke up, but barely.

"What?" Stan turned around from his DVD collection.

"Yeah, I think I'm just gonna go to bed." Kyle said, hardly above a whisper, as he started to snuggle into the couch.

"Aren't you gonna get in the bed, dude?"

No, fuck no. They had shared each others beds before, but tonight that was out of the question. Not even within the same universe as the question.

"No, I, uh," Shit. What was a good reason for sleeping on an old couch that smelt of cheesy poofs and video game sweat? "I've been having back pain."

"Back pain?"

"Yeah, sleeping on a couch can help."

"It can?"

"Yeah." He rolled over, resolutely facing the cushions instead of Stan.

"Alright then. I'm gonna put in a game though. I'm not really tired."

"That's fine."

"Do you feel okay?" Stan asked.

Kyle exhaled deeply before saying, "Yeah."

"You sure?"

"Just tired."

Stan paused, and walked closer. Kyle refused to look at him, but felt him drape a blanket over his body.

"Good night, dude."

"Good night, Stan."

This was definitely not going to work out well.


End file.
